Difference between revisions of "Logs:Focused Offer"

It was the fourth drink before Y'rel would consent to talk 'business'. H'kon lifted the whiskey, wrapped it in his hand to impart warmth to it, gave it a sniff, more for the routine than anything. The portions had been favourable - this particular bartender had been partial to Alpine ever since the rout of Rone's army - and the quality of the drink in his glass was more a matter of form than anything. There were nuances that now would be beyond his perception.

"Drink up," the wingleader invited. Y'rel was a bigger man than H'kon, but the signs of the alcohol were beginning to show on his face, and in his voice, also. This, at least, should mean that he'd eased from the previously nightly routine of the drink. Nabol had hit him hard.

H'kon supposed it had hit him as well - some sleepless nights, some restlessness, some harshness - but he had dealt with it differently now than he might have. That tugged at his mind, invited further consideration. But there was that smooth amber liquid at his lips, and his wingleader, satisfied to see him into the forth, canting his head.

"I know why you're here, H'kon."

H'kon put his whiskey back to the table, hand still around the sides of the glass. "Perhaps you'd tell me."

"Dr'al."

He nodded, waited.

Y'rel carried on, as those sorts of men would, most of all in their cups. "He does want to move," a thing worth toasting with his whiskey, it seemed. "He's been eyeing Frostbite for turns."

"So he'd said." H'kon did not bother with when, where. Y'rel would not care for interjection.

"There's a few I've been considering, to replace him, you know. I've been thinking on it, H'kon. Not so long as he's been, but long enough. When you know one of your men may be planning, you've got to plan after him."

"Indeed." H'kon rotated his drink a few degrees, flat on the table still.

"When you first came over, I'd've thought you were here to take yourself out of consideration." Y'rel still held his glass near his mouth, and extended an index finger to lay alongside his nose.

"Indeed," H'kon said again, and rotated his glass another few degrees.

"Now, though..." The finger returned to gripping, and after a moment of looking over the rim of the glass, Y'rel nodded. "Drink up."

H'kon took another, measured sip. The splendid warmth of the drink had gone by the end of his second glass, but the smoothness... that he could still appreciate. In moderation. "Now that is not my purpose."

"I know," was a bit too triumphant to have been a certainty. "You did good in Nabol, you and Arekoth. There was reasons it was you guys, instead of Dr'al."

H'kon was certain there were. He settled his glass on the table again, and gave it another partial turn, eyes always on the bronzerider.

Y'rel tilted the glass back, and it was done. "Won't say I wasn't considering anyway," was carried on vapours, but the man's eyes had gone harder, serious. And then, "Drink up."

H'kon raised his glass, and took the rest in two swallows.

"Go on home, H'kon. Rest up. Aren't you sweeping tomorrow?"

"Among other things."

"Drinks are covered. Go on." The dismissive wave of Y'rel's hand turned to a call for the server as H'kon took his leave, wishing the bronzerider clear skies. He had no doubt it would turn to another drink shortly after he'd left.

He found Arekoth outside the bowl with Kavith. He'd expected as much, for the lack of interruption.

H'kon paused a moment, one hand resting on Arekoth's hide, torn between Madilla's side and his dragon's. But in the end, this night had not been about her, had it?